My Laptop Was Stolen in Mexico
by Butties
Summary: I really have no idea what I said to get you to come to that party. I thought we would both have fun, and that we would come home before midnight. I really thought I wasn't lying to you. Neither of us had any idea just how much I was lying. Kenny/Kyle.
1. In which there is a familiar couchsurfer

SO THIS IS THE MOTHERFUCKING COMMENT BOX RIGHT? YEAH, IT IS NOW. So this is what I wasted a couple of weeks doing. If I get ten reviews or something I'll post the second part :D

**Kenny**

I'm still a little bit sorry about knocking on your door at 3 AM in the middle of a storm. I remember when you answered the door, you were still as damn short as you always were, but I now towered over you. Me at 6'3" and you at 5'7", and suddenly it really did seem like it had been five years since we had last seen each other.

"... Kenny?" You looked surprised to see me, which was understandable.

"Who is it, honey?" I heard a woman's voice from inside your barely lit house.

"Uhm... it's Kenny."

You opened the door, and I could fully see the inside of your house. It had a beige-and-white color scheme, it seemed very un-you to me, but I guess you knew what you liked. "Hey, can I sleep on your couch?" I asked and began to walk towards the beige couch, setting down my backpack and taking a seat on it. It was really squishy.

"Yeah, sure, go ahead..."

I remember you and Bebe walked back upstairs, as you left I heard her say, "How long is he going to be staying with us?"

"He does this all the time, typical Kenny. He'll be gone soon, he never stays in one place longer than a month."

I woke up about fourteen hours later, I probably would've slept longer, but you dumping water on my face and yanking the sheets off of me woke me up enough to drag myself off of your couch. "So, what are you doing here?" you asked as you tossed me my jeans.

"Well, I just figured I had a bunch of friends up here, so why not come and stop by?" I smiled and began to get dressed. I caught glimpse of your right hand, where a pretty nice-looking ring wrapped around your finger. "So dude, you got married?"

"We're engaged. I... E-mailed you about the wedding. You're invited."

"My laptop was stolen in Mexico."

"What were you doing in Mexico?" You frowned, I could tell you expected some sort of mafia-drug war thing.

"It's where Lizzy wanted to go, we'd been traveling around for a while and that's the place she picked, it was good and cheap, we were gonna stay there for a while but I got bored and she got pissed so we broke up and went back to the US."

"Sounds like you've had a pretty exciting life... Hey, so, where did you go after we graduated?"

"So-Cal, lived in San Diego for about nine months, and then moved around a lot after that, lots of couch surfing. Oh, yeah! Hey, do you want to come to a party with me? A bunch of my friends are throwing a party! Do you wanna come? There just a bunch of friends from high school, you'll like 'em."

"We went to different high schools, dude, I won't know anyone..."

"Dude, it'll be fine, they're all cool people, you'll dig 'em."

"You promise that I won't end up sitting on an alcohol, vomit-covered couch while I watch everybody else have fun?"

"Yes."

I really have no idea what I said to get you to come to that party, and I thought at the time that everything that I had promised would be a reality. I thought we really would both have fun, and that, that we would come home before midnight, I thought I wasn't lying to you. But really, neither of us had any idea just how much I was lying.


	2. In which there is not an orgy

Kyle

Sitting in the car, it felt like high school all over again. Except when I was in high school I wasn't driving a dark blue BMW, I wasn't even driving at all, because the first dance I went to I was fifteen, and I drank too much and then threw up on the girl I was dancing with. It was probably the worst moment of my life, and I vowed to never go to a dance again. But here I was, thinking, "Will they like me? Will somebody I know be there? I hope I look okay in this orange sweatshirt," and a bunch of other stupid things like that. Suddenly, your voice cut through my thoughts, like that rusty knife you used to cut open that dead frog I found in 6th grade. "You took the wrong turn! Dude! DUDE, TURN AROUND!"

"Okay, okay! I just don't come down to Denver very often! Fuck, look, I'm turning around, okay?"

And I did turn around, and after driving down some street. After a lot of yelling and swearing and death threats, we finally reached the house. It was lavender with gold trim that created an atmosphere of quirkiness and oddity. A very forced and obviously intentional one. That being said, I was slightly hesitant to knock on the door, but you quickly knocked on it before I could even touch it. The door was answered by a girl with long black hair, dressed in a floppy pink hat, a yellow skirt and a purple tank top. She introduced herself to me as Wendy, and then introduced her boyfriend, Stan, who was quick to tell me about his band, 'The Weed Eaters' and the new Farmer's Market here.

"All organic man!" he said and laughed before walking into the house, crowded with people. Kenny immediately blended in with all of the lava lamp lighting and weird, Indian-sounding music.

Suddenly, I was alone. I have no idea how big that house was, or how they managed to fit like a zillion people in it, all of which I did not know. Awkwardness was soon to ensue, and so was my promised not-vomit-and-alcohol stained couch, which looked red underneath the orgy of people flailing about on top of it. But then again, pretty much everything looked reddish-orange under this Christmas-esque, lava lamp and 'artsy' light bulb set-up. I guess it went well with the not-sure-what-the-fuck-that-is-but-I-think-it's-incense scent that saturated the air. So, red lighting and smoky smells make me woozy and fuck me up, apparently. But from what I can gather this is what happened:

1. Beer

2. Talk

3. More beer

4. More talking, got a phone number

5. Tequila

6. This:

"NO, KENNY, FUCK YOU! PORN IS NOT ART."

"IT SO IS, THERE'S A WHOLE FESTIVAL FOR LIKE, ARTSY PORN AND SHIT!"

"IS NOT."

"THERE TOTALLY IS, DUDE."

7. TequilaTequilaTequila

8. Another one of these:

"ONLY REAL MEN MAKE PORN, THEY'RE THE ONLY ONES COMFORTABLE WITH THEIR BODIES THAT MUCH, THAT'S WHY YOU CAN'T DO PORN!"

"SCREW OFF, I COULD TOTALLY DO PORN! I'M CONFIDENT AS ALL HOLY FUCK AND YOU GODDAMN WELL KNOW IT!"

"WHEN HAVE YOU DONE SOMETHING OUT OF YOUR COMFORT ZONE IN THESE LAST FEW YEARS?"

"..."

"EXACTLY! YOU NEED TO DO SOMETHING TOTALLY OUT OF YOUR COMFORT ZONE, SOMETHING TOTALLY FUCKING INSANE."

9. Bed, you, other people, hats gone.

Don't know what else is gone; probably a lot of things.

... Phone...

... Text messages...?

Bebe.

BEBE!

SHIT!

Rolling over, I looked around at who was with me. Nobody was naked, and nobody was in a state to have gotten dressed. That was a good sign, no orgies, don't have to cross that off my bucket list. Who was here? You, Stan, Wendy, some blond with all-over-the-fucking-place hair and a shirt buttoned all wrong. Somebody duct-taped to the floor, I think he was introduced to me as Butters, whoever he was, he had 'fag' written on his chest and a fake mustache drawn with Sharpie on his face. I looked back at my phone. There was a text message from you on my phone, too.

Kenny

3:26 AM

"Don't forget. Hotel number 275. Monday. Don't pussy out."

I would ask later. With you, it is always, always better to ask later.


End file.
